


My Impossible Valentine

by Hekwos



Category: Bleach
Genre: Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekwos/pseuds/Hekwos
Summary: Hitsugaya Toshiro is a man of duty, responsibility. He certainly doesn't have time for crass commercial holidays and silly notions of romance.How, then, could Ichigo ever get the message across on the most romantic of holidays?Well, through Matsumoto Rangiku, of course.Two separate stories for Bleach Big Bang - Bing #6 Valentine's/White Day





	1. Chapter 1

“Shooo-haaay! Bottle’s empty again. Why do you keep letting that happen?”

Hidden snickers built into outright guffaws as the tattooed, scary-looking lieutenant jumped to fix the problem and returned with a full bottle, the hopeful expression of a drenched puppy sitting on the doorstep suffusing his usually stern face. Rangiku smirked. He wasn’t the only one who was wrapped around her skilled fingers, but he certainly was the most eager.

“Good boy, now go get me something to snack on. Can’t drink on an empty stomach, right boys? Bad for the constitution.”

“S’not verynice. Ya know he _hic_ s’in love _hic_ witchoo.”

“What? No one can understand you, Izuru. It’s just impolite to get wasted like that.”

Now she was clear and articulate, she was certain. She would never let herself go like that in public. Why, she hardly ever got drunk, thanks to her remarkable willpower and metabolism.

“Lookie who’s talkin’”

“Rude. Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh, Valentine’s Day! What are you getting me, Iz-u-ru?”

_Thunk._

“Gross. Right in a puddle of drool. Oh well. What are you getting me, Ren-ji?”

“Nothin’, you lush. Let Shuhei waste his paycheck on a girl that will string him along for years. Not my thing.”

“Right, right, you prefer to be the one doing the stringing.”

“What the fuck is that . . .”

“Rukia! Oh, fair and wondrous Rukia! Oh, how I love thee! Not that I’ll ever tell you, of course.”

“You think I won’t kick your ass just cuz you’re drunk? Hey, get off me!”

She ignored the scuffle breaking out between Renji and Shuhei, focusing instead on the kaki no tane.

“You see, Izuru,” she addressed the passed-out blond seriously, finding him a much better listener than usual, “that’s why I keep Shuhei around. He always knows just what I want.” She sighed. “Maybe I should give him a chance. I mean, it’s quite a change from he-who-must-not-be-named, having a guy actually pay attention to what I like.”

The noise of the bar went on, but the silence nearby was suddenly deafening. Her head turned slowly, taking in the sight of Renji with his mouth gaping like a fish, and Shuhei, red-faced hopefully from the strangle hold he was locked in, grinning like a fool with comic tears in his eyes.

 _Oh, shit._ Had she just said . . .

“I mean, haha, like that would be funny, right? Me and Shuhei, hahaha, seriously, like that would ever happen!”

A scramble of movement, a jostling of the table, and she was leaning back onto the quietly snoring Izuru to try to keep some distance between herself and the wet puppy she had just let into the house who now insisted on jumping all over her and splattering mud around her locked, sterile home.

“I won’t let you down, Ran! I’ve got it all planned out. Reservations at that place you love in Junrinan, I got the best table months ago. There’s a festival only a few blocks away, dancing at the town hall. Then a moonlit stroll home, and . . .”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down lover boy. Not that I’m not flattered, really, but this is my last night off for like two weeks.”

Yeah, that excuse would work. Happened to be true, which was a handy bonus. She congratulated herself, even though there was a slight twinge of guilt as the earnest lieutenant deflated.

“Just skip out like you always do, Rangiku.”

Gray eyes lit with hope, and she cursed Renji and that damned smirk on his stupid face.

“Yeah, normally that would work. But my captain’s even more uptight than usual lately.”

Unspoken, they all knew why. The same set of reasons that had them all here drinking when they should be doing more important things. Winning a war shouldn't feel this awful.

“Last time I left early, he tracked me down. Now, do you really want him storming in and freezing your ass in a restaurant?”

Deflated again.

“But tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day. Surely, if you had a date . . .”

“Nah, she’s right, man. Hitsugaya don’t give a shit about some holiday, ‘specially not this one. What can you expect, right? Guy’s got a heart of ice, not a romantic bone in his body. Or maybe he just ain’t hit puberty yet. Maybe if he got laid, he’d lighten up.”

The two laughed and she blinked, rolling the words around in her head. It wasn’t very nice, talking about Toshiro that way. Not that it was anything new. Normally, she’d shut Renji up. But . . . _hmmm_.

“You know, Renji, you might be on to something there.”

“Huh?”

“Well, what if my captain had something better to think about than my paperwork? Like a Valentine’s admirer?”

“Huh?”

“Moron.”

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

“ _Matsumoto_!”

“Ugh, not so loud! Eh, what are you doing in my room, captain?”

“It’s my office, Matsumoto. What the hell is going on!”

She rolled over, both hands coming up to her ears. Her bed had gotten really, really hard. Someone was snoring. She didn’t snore, she was sure of it, snoring wasn't elegant at all. It was so bright! And that was . . . uh-oh . . . something pale and snoring and almost naked. _Not again_.

Scrambling into an elegant sprawl, pushing back her surely perfect hair out of her certainly clear and lovely eyes, not bloodshot like the blinking gray eyes trying to focus on her, she took in the dire circumstances. At least she was still clothed, though Shuhei was drooling as he watched her tuck her breast back in her kosode. Lech.

“Oh, shit. Izuru, hey! Get up, dickwad!”

Renji, too? That was new. Usually he didn’t end up here. Oh, he was stripped down to fundoshi, too, and my, my was he in good shape. Well, so was Shuhei. Even pale-ass Izuru was fit though her eyes didn't want to focus on the heavily damage and the bizarre metal patchwork. They'd all been through . . . she needed a drink.

Wait, wasn’t there something more important than nearly naked men?

“Fuck! Renji, Shuhei, just drag him out of here. Hurry!”

Too late, really, the hell butterflies were already flitting away from her captain, out the open door, off to alert three captains that their seconds were lying in another captain’s office, clothed only in scraps of cloth and shame.

“Ne, captain, you didn’t have to . . .”

“You have 30 minutes, Matsumoto. Go home. Clean yourself up and then get back here ready to work. Or don’t bother coming back at all.”

She’d really done it this time. He hadn’t been this angry since . . . she couldn’t remember. After the Winter War, maybe, though he’d been so distracted by Momo that his anger was like a summer storm, here and gone in a heartbeat, leaving him worn out and increasingly heartbroken. Lately, though, it was winter storms, heavy and lasting, a dark cloud over everything that made her want to hide as much as it made her want to comfort him.

All this she contemplated while furious turquoise tracked the chaotic flurry of limbs and curses that accompanied three fleeing lieutenants. All this she tried not to feel terribly guilty over, knowing she’d once again disappointed him. All this added to the pounding headache as she took the small but incredibly strong hand, offered casually despite the tight wrath in his expression, and struggled to her feet, out the door, to clean herself up as ordered.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It was in the shower that she started to remember, head hanging, watching the warm water darken and pull her hair down. A plot, a scheme to get out of her responsibilities yet again. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. In fact, it seemed like a much better idea than the things she usually came up with when she’d had so much sake that she could convince herself she was perfectly sober.

It was while she was getting dressed in a fresh uniform that didn’t reek of alcohol and smoke that she started to worry. Sure, when he was a third seat under her she had teased him mercilessly. But he was her captain. Not only had she failed to stop the derisive talk, she’d encouraged it. Hell, she’d even told them what no one else knew, what Toshiro had told her in confidence late one night when she had asked him if he was in love with Momo.

“Huh?”

“You’re like some kinda parrot. A big, stupid, spikey parrot. Huh? Huh?”

She laughed as Shuhei teased Renji, but rushed ahead, excited about her plan.

“I said, not a girl. He gets tons of gifts and love letters, you know. He won't give a shit about chocolates from a girl. Do I have to spell it out for you? So one of you write the note, nice, sloppy guy writing.”

“Hitsugaya-taicho is GAY!”

“SHHHH!”

“ _Hitsugaya-taicho is gay_?”

“Oh my god, I’ll write it myself. Let’s see, what would a secret admirer say about Toshiro?”

“I love you, please don’t kill me?”

“You’re so cute, I just wanna dress you up like a teddy bear?”

“Roses are red, daffodils are yellow . . . um, here’s some chocolate for my fine icy fellow.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Like one of Izuru’s poems.”

“Wait, wait! I’ve got it!” She grinned, smug in her epiphany. “Ichigo.”

“Huh?”

“Huh? Huh? Fucking caveman.”

“Come on, who else would be crazy enough to hit on my captain? And he’s never here anymore, so it’s pretty safe. Plus, Toshiro would never in a million years confront Ichigo of all people.”

“Then what good is it?”

“Think about it, Shuhei. Everyone wants Ichigo. I know you’re straight but tell me you wouldn’t be a bit tempted if he gave you the time of day.”

“Gross!”

“Liar. Ichigo’s fucking hot.”

“Why Renji,” she hit him hard on the arm, determined to never let him forget this moment, “I never! Have you told Rukia? Ooooo, have you told Ichigo?”

“I’m not gay. I’m just saying. Dude’s hot, and a badass, I’m confident enough in my masculinity to admit that.”

“Good, then you write it. Pretend you’re the strawberry.”

It was when she crept back into the office and slunk over to her desk that she really started to think she was the worst friend in the entire fucking world. It had worked. The plain box that they had dumped store-bought chocolates into to make them pass for homemade had vanished from the big desk, but it wasn't in the trash bin with the rejected offerings. The anger she would expect had vanished, too, her captain intensely frowning at some form or another, eyebrows knitted together in concentration where normally he’d be casually zipping through the information and moving on.

It was when the awkward silence had stretched on for a good half an hour that she broke, drawing breath to confess all her sins. Only, she never got the chance.

“Matsumoto.”

“Y-yes?”

Timid was not a look her captain pulled off well, brows pinched, grimacing, furtive glances. Frankly, he looked constipated.

“The . . . uh, tradition of giving chocolates . . . on Valentine’s Day . . . what, exactly, does one expect in return?”

“Well, I suppose one hopes more than expects, usually, hopes that the one they give the chocolates to might like them back, maybe even love them. It's a chance for romance, a way to confess.”

“Yes, yes. But what about the answer, the . . . gift back?”

“Oh, you mean White Day! Well, you've got a lot of practice not giving anything back to anyone, captain. The pile was smaller this year, wasn't it?” He glared and she raced before he could yell. “But if you liked someone, it would be the chance to tell them. Chocolates, candy, cookies, marshmallows . . . or if you're really keen on them maybe something sweeter like jewelry or even a nice white negligee, or something lacy and skimpy.”

It was as her captain’s face drained of color and she saw the bobbing of his throat that she knew. It was official. Worst friend ever.

“Of course, some girls give chocolate just out of friendship.”

“Friendship?”

“Yes, like I gave you that white chocolate dragon with the little cinnamon drop for an eye but you don’t like sweets you said and you dumped it right in the trash and I cried for like an hour because I stayed up all night making it for my new captain and you just didn’t care at all about my feelings or anything . . .”

“Okay, okay! I got it.”

“Why do you ask, captain?”

“No reason.”

It was when he went back to glaring holes through paperwork that she lost her nerve. She couldn’t tell him it was all in fun, because this wasn’t fun. Maybe she’d wait. Yeah, he’d get over the shock of it in a couple of days. He’d probably be mad as fuck at Ichigo, but that was better than being mad as fuck at her.

“Matsumoto, after lunch take care of deliveries and then take the rest of the day off. You can come in late tomorrow.”

“Captain?”

Another cold glare and she flinched. It had worked, but she felt like shit about it. Just how badly had she upset him to make him not want to work? And . . . oh, shit. Now she had no excuse not to go on that date with Shuhei. Well, that's karma for you.

“Thank you, captain.”

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

“Rangiku! Where have you been?”

“Ugh. I do _not_ want to talk about it. Captain's on the warpath, I spent a almost two weeks in Rukongai and I get back just in time to get shipped off to spend forever training a stick-in-the-mud newbie in the Living World. Dude barely talks, and he's stationed in the middle of nowhere, of course, couldn't possibly be in Paris or Dubai or anything.”

“Backfired, didn't it? Shoulda seen that coming.”

“Shut it, pineapple head. Worked for a couple of days, anyway. Pass the sake. Renji, What did you write in that Valentine's letter? I don't remember a thing.”

“Uh . . . let's see. Something like ' _you're so hot_ ' which I thought was funny since, you know, ice and all, and ' _I want in your hakama_ ' or some romantic shit like that.”

“You didn't!”

“No, he didn't. Leave my Ran alone, dickface.” She rolled her eyes. One date, admittedly a nice date, and now it was ' _my Ran_.' Men. “You really don't remember? You kept making him tone it down. Kinda lame, like ' _please accept this token of my affection_.' You said it was in case he actually talked to Ichigo.”

“Which he might. Rukia said he's coming next week.”

“Shit! He hasn't been around forever. Why now?”

“Some Kuchiki getting married. None of the other Shibas would come, still pissed off at the whole ' _your clan sucks, get lost'_ thing.”

“Oh, fuck. We've got to keep them from seeing each other!”

“That's gonna be tough. Captain Hitsugaya already RSVPed. Rukia was pretty excited about that since he never accepts.”

“Oh, I'm so fired.”

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Her earliest memories were of facing danger; being a young soul with significant spiritual power far out in Rukongai was not the easiest way to start an afterlife. She'd faced down bullies, murderers, Hollows, Arrancar, those horrid Quincies, and, of, course, Gin . . . point was, Matsumoto Rangiku was no coward.

And yet, every time she was away she screwed up her courage, and every time she saw her captain again all her nerve evaporated in a puff of shame and anxiety. Lucky for her, he just seemed to keep finding ways for her to not be in the office, not be at training when he was. Unlucky for her, this just made her more anxious. It wasn't like him to avoid her. Rather, he usually kept a close eye on her, not that she needed it, being the shining example of a dutiful and perfect lieutenant.

When she returned from the latest three day trip to Rukongai, she had raced home ahead of the squad, eager for a shower and determined to come clean to her captain, as well. White Day was coming, and with it the engagement party at Kuchiki Manor, where her captain would be confronted with his not-so-secret not-so-admirer. It could go a few ways. Maybe Toshiro would be as angry as she expected and yell at the strawberry who would not have a clue why and probably react with volatility that would escalate and then all the other captains would get involved and boom . . . civil war right there in the Kuchiki Compound.

Or maybe shy Toshiro would surprise her and get a gift for the highly desirable human who had his pick of partners and would hopefully let the ice captain down easy but what if he didn't and he laughed and poor Toshiro's heart would be shattered and he'd never ever risk anything like a love confession _ever again_ and he'd be _all alone_ and bitter and it would all be her fault and _oh, god, what had she done_!

She had to tell him. Only one day left to do the right thing and save her captain from embarrassment and ruin. Barging in to the office, She was amazed to find her captain red-faced and breathing hard, his back firmly to the door of the supply closet.

“Matsu . . . moto . . . what are you . . .”

“Everything alright, captain?”

The confession of her sins forgotten in the shock of seeing the always dignified and composed tensai with his haori off and kosode open, in the office, at 2 in the afternoon. _OH. Oh, no._ Had he been crying? Had he been so upset by her cruel little joke that he was a sobbing mess alone in his office? His cheeks were all flushed and his lips swollen like he'd been biting on them, that had to be it, _poor Toshiro_ , and it was all her fault.

“Oh, captain! I'm so sorry,” she wailed, and his big eye got even bigger, like he was going to cry again any minute. She couldn't take, it. She just couldn't.

“Matsumoto?”

“It was me, captain! I'm a _horrible_ person. I was drinking and I was upset and the guys were there and it seemed like some harmless fun and I even thought it might be good for you, you know? You were so depressed and angry all the time and if someone liked you, _someone really good_ , then maybe it would cheer you up but it wasn't supposed to go this far, _I swear_ , I never meant for you to get hurt just don't say anything tomorrow, okay?”

He had walked toward her while she spilled her guts, hands gently taking hers and pulling her over to the couch. She sat as she tried to make excuses for herself, only feeling worse by the second as he gently, somewhat awkwardly patted her on the knee.

“Calm down, Rangiku.”

“Ohhhhh, don't be so kind, _oh, captain,_ I didn't mean . . .

“Take a breath, and tell me what has you so upset.”

She wiped her face on her sleeve, gross, and took a shaky breath to do just that. The words started to pour out of her, and the comforting hands pulled away, turquoise eyes going from upset concern to that familiar distant coldness.

“It was me. The boys were there, but it was my idea and I did it, captain. I told Renji to write the note and I bought the chocolates and I put them both on your desk. Don't be mad at them, they were drinking and _it was me_ , I did it. Only, I meant to tell you the second I sobered up but I knew you'd be mad, I mean, you should be mad, I know. And now Ichigo will be here _tomorrow_ and you'll talk to him and he won't know because he didn't give you those chocolates and he didn't write the note . . . it was me.”

There were five long, terrible seconds of silence before she could bring herself to lift her eyes and catch the disappointment and sadness that she dreaded. Not so much sadness for himself at finding out that Ichigo had not, in fact, given him a Valentine's confession. No, she knew that look. He was sad because of what she had done, disappointed that the person he should be able to trust more than anyone had toyed with him for a month.

“Well. That certainly explains a few things. Go home, Matsumoto. Take a few days off. I need time to think about where this leaves us.”

He sounded so resigned, like being hurt was only to be expected, and it was all her fault. _For what?_ A night off she didn't even want? She couldn't hold back a strangled sob. His hand that suddenly lifted toward her shook a little, and every ounce of courage she had fled just as she, world's worst friend and Gotei's worst lieutenant, turned and fled out of the office.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He sat and watched her run out the door, feeling long overdue satisfaction. The clatter of falling objects accompanied the creak of the supply closet door, a low curse, quiet footsteps.

“That was a bit harsh.”

“A month, Ichigo. It took her a month.”

“You sound angry.”

Taking in the gorgeous sight of Ichigo topless and slightly bruised from his kisses and being suddenly flung into a closet helped turn his thoughts back to the silver lining of this mess. While the brash young human had been flirting with him for almost as long as they had known each other, Toshiro had never taken it seriously, just crude banter as was common in human youth.

“I am angry. It was a stupid thing to do. It might be forgivable if it was a cruel prank on a friend, but I'm her captain.”

A warm arm wrapped around his shoulders and he barely stopped himself from melting into the warm body pressed against his side. No, he'd never taken Ichigo's flirting seriously, and never really considered his own feelings in return. Until he was briefly tricked by an unwanted box of chocolates and a letter. At first, he was too stunned to realize the obvious. Hell, just the clumsy penmanship and terrible prose gave it away, but not before he started thinking.

“No harm done in the long run, right? You know she wouldn't have done something like that if she wasn't wasted. And look what it got you.”

He smirked, tilting his head to accept warm lips on his cheek and pushing his hand between bare skin and couch to hold his boyfriend's waist. Racing off to the Living World on Valentine's Day with a forged letter was the fastest way to the truth. At the time, he hadn't even suspected Matsumoto. More likely one of her drinking buddies or a lower Shinigami he had slighted or offended by being himself. But the strongest suspects were humans, Kurosaki himself or his friends.

“Oh, the look on your face. I'll never forget it.”

Using kido to open the window locked against the chill February wind and entering Kurosaki's bedroom uninvited was just proof that Matsumoto wasn't the only one capable of rash, uncivil behavior. The room had been unoccupied, giving him plenty of time to read the real love letter half-composed on the desk littered with wadded up evidence of effort and angst before the unsuspecting human came in, damp from the shower in low-slung cotton pants that short-circuited an already stressed brain.

“My face? I was justified, at least, finding an intruder poking around, not to mention reading letters I was never gonna send. And your face . . . you practically drooled, you old lecher, kinda like just ten minutes ago.”

It took less than a second to twist himself around and end up straddling the long legs, hands clasped in orange hair, that bare torso he hadn't finished with staring him right in the face. Resisting the urge to lose control again, _this was his office, for crying out loud_ , he leaned in for a gentle kiss and backed off right away even though big hands on his hips were urging him closer.

“Think you're that great of a prize, do you? I haven't given you my answer, yet.”

A sweet and sultry laugh against his lips and he had to pull back again, almost leaning off Ichigo's knees as the strawberry chased him for another kiss. Bad idea, climbing on his boyfriend's lap.

“I'm pretty sure you'll say yes. Or, what was it in that horrible letter? Check the box yes or no? And I'm the one in high school.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.”

More laughter. He didn't mind, not when it was Ichigo, not when another kiss followed the deep chuckle.

“You'll forgive her then.”

A statement more than a question, and his sigh was answer enough. But he'd let her suffer at least until tomorrow.

“On one condition. I'm going to my quarters. Get dressed, wait five minutes, then follow.”

He smirked again at the surprise and then glee on that handsome face, climbed off his comfortable perch on strong legs, and walked away as he straightened his uniform. Chasing Matsumoto out of the division for the last few weeks had been a good idea, giving him plenty of time to talk, cuddle, and then make out non-stop with his boyfriend, but tomorrow it would all be out in the open. Tonight, then, he'd give Ichigo his White Day present a little early.

And he supposed he would have to forgive Matsumoto, in the end. ' _Something lacy and skimpy_ ' had been her idea, after all, and he looked good in white silk if he did say so himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder - This is a completely separate story from first chapter.

“Sorry, what?”

I had been distracted by the small box covered with shiny red paper. Why he would give me chocolates when he knew I disliked sweets . . . teasing, it must be. Kurosaki had always laughed whenever Ukitake shoved candy at me, and had decided to take over the role of my tormentor. One hand swept the box off the desk and into the trash bin with the other offerings, mostly from new members of the division who didn't know any better.

His eyes followed the motion; he stepped forward to look over the edge of the desk, staring at the bin. I expected him to laugh, but he looked a bit ill.

“Um, okay, _that happened_ . . . so, dinner, with me, sometime this weekend maybe?”

“You're welcome at the dining hall, of course. Standard dinner hours are seven to nine.”

“Yeah, thanks. But that's not quite what I had in mind.”

A few seconds of silence and the tone of his voice started to sink in, disappointed, maybe a little exasperated. I ran back over his words and couldn't see a reason for him to be upset. I wanted to ignore him, it wasn't my job to babysit him anymore, and trying to figure out what he wanted was far more effort than it was worth. Sometimes I regretted not flat-out baring him from the Tenth after the war. At the time, being hospitable was definitely the right thing to do, the very least I could do. But it would be a good deal less noisy around here if he had continued to harass his friends in the other divisions instead of heading straight for the Tenth every time he dropped in.

And yet, the powers that be had asked all of us to treat this kid with kid gloves. Hero of two major wars, powerful as most if not all captains, and still human. If he ever turned on us, he'd be one hell of an enemy. And if anything else threatened Soul Society in his lifetime, we might need him once again. If it weren't for that, I would have chased him out of my office and my division a long time ago. But no, I put up with him showing up uninvited, hanging around for no purpose, adding yet another disruption. So, I swallowed the sigh that wanted to escape, and looked up.

“And what did you have in mind, Kurosaki?”

He didn't look angry. No, he suddenly looked nervous, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back toward me.

“Well, Ran mentioned a couple of good restaurants. Or there's a great spot in Karakura if you wanna get out for the night. There a decent band playing Saturday if you want. My treat.”

An almost imperceptible flinch surprised me enough to erase my scowl. Normally, I couldn't care less if someone mistook my confusion for anger. This human, however, didn't flinch at anything, faced down gods and devils without a second of hesitation. To see him nervous and touchy only added to my perplexity, and I stared at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

Definitely exasperated. “I'm asking you out to dinner, Toshiro.”

“That's Hitsugaya-taicho,” I snapped, growing exasperated myself. “And in case you weren't aware, the taicho part of that means that I am very busy, all day, every day. I don't have time for frivolous activities, just as I don't have time for pointless conversations.”

My eyes went back to my desk, back to the report due in less than an hour, but not before I saw the look on his face. Why? Why did he look like I had just told him his puppy died? It was only the truth. A truth he should have known, that we can't all be insanely powerful and completely without any responsibilities. Besides, what sense did it make, traveling for dinner when the food here was perfectly acceptable, free, and fast?

“Okay. Got it. Sorry to bother you.”

I mumbled a farewell, relieved when he left without any more nonsense. His very presence irritated me, made it hard to concentrate. It most certainly had nothing to do with the way I found myself staring at him, studying his peaceful features when he napped uninvited on my office couch, or the strange agitation I felt when his reiatsu appeared in Seireitei, loud and inescapable, ensuring I couldn’t get anything done as I watched the door for his inevitable arrival. No, I was only irritated by the waste of time.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

“What did you do, taicho?”

I kept my attention on the sparing Shinigami in the arena, keeping a running list of issues to point out to the officers. Whatever Matsumoto was going on about this time, it wasn't as important as this. Take away the training, and her ranting still took second stage to the perfection of the morning, still cool and the light soft through broken clouds, I was tempted to just lie back on the slope and stare at the sky for a few hours.

“About what, Matsumoto?”

“What did you do to Ichigo?”

Sigh.

“Glad to see you showed up for training, Matsumoto. The third squad needs a lot of work. Just look at that pair, complete lack of fundamentals, whacking at each other like kids with sticks.”

“I'm serious, taicho. All that kid's been through, he never stopped. But whatever you did or said really shut him down, like the light's just gone out. So I want to know, you have to tell me what you did to him.”

“Matsumoto!” I snapped at her. “I haven't done anything to that annoying human, and I resent the implication.”

“That can't be true.” I scowled at the interruption, the accusation that I was lying. “What exactly happened?”

“I don't have time for this.”

“Taicho! Please.”

I stared at the drifting clouds, suddenly feeling just as rootless, just as distant. It wasn't the first time that other people's reactions made me question my own understanding. I usually let it go, let it drift by and the world, the sky, life would continue. Yet for some reason there was a gnawing in my chest. I had watched Kurosaki give everything when he owed nothing, watched him survive the consequences, the depression and self-doubt. Every time, he rose stronger, brighter, blindingly brilliant like a phoenix from the ashes. I never intended to hurt him, couldn't understand what I had supposedly done or why it mattered to him what I did or said.

Matsumoto was practically my antithesis, at least when it came to human interaction, and work ethic, and discipline . . . point was, she obviously saw something I was missing. For once, I cared, and she might be the key to figuring out why.

“If he is upset, it is hardly my fault. All I did was tell him the truth for the millionth time, that I don't have time for his silliness, his constant interruptions, and especially I don't have time for things like trips to the Living World just to eat.”

“He asked you out?”

“What? He wanted to go get dinner at a restaurant and to see some band perform, for some reason. I told him the mess hall was open, but I couldn't spare time for something like that. And he left.”

“Oh, dear. Well, that explains it.”

“How does that explain anything?”

She looked down on me with that expression like pity, poor taicho just doesn't get it, doesn't have a clue. I hated having to swallow my pride yet again in hopes of getting an answer when it would probably be useless, just so much emotional trash.

“Taicho, have you never been on a date?”

I stared.

“A date. You know, two people spend time together, hopefully like each other, maybe become a couple. Dating, taicho.”

“I know what dating is, Matsumoto. Why are you asking . . . no. No, you’ve got to be joking.”

Suddenly, all those drifting clouds settled in my stomach, while me feet, thank God, felt like lead. I took a deep breath, trying to banish the weird feeling, suspecting it was a sign of something I really did not want to deal with. I couldn’t possibly _like_ the idea that Kurosaki was so damned annoying because he was attracted to me. Impossible.

“You thought he just spent his free time hanging out in your office for what? The honor of watching you work? He's been trying to tell you he's interested in you ever since we went to Karakura, and he finally came right out and asked you on a date. Tell me, were there chocolates involved?”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Oh, dear,” she mumbled again. “Valentine's Day, taicho. You've heard of it?”

“For the love of . . .”

“Exactly! You didn't just say you didn't have time, did you?”

Impossible. It didn't make any sense. He was human, he was young, he was a he. And what the hell could he see in me that made him think of a possible romantic relationship? My warm personality? How much fun I was to be around?

What did I say, exactly? I said what he was asking for was frivolous. And I said our conversations, a few minutes here, a half hour there over months, were pointless. They weren't pointless, some of them anyway, yet I didn't lie. I suppose I could see my fault. Had I realized the emotional import, I could have been kinder. Perhaps the next time he came around I could apologize and explain. What did people say in such situations? _It was impossible_.

“That idiot. We're Shinigami. This life is about duty. Even if we had time for such things, he's a human. How would he expect such a relationship to progress when he will die in less than a century?”

“Huh?” I winced. I really hadn't meant to say such things out loud. “Are we living in the same place? You do realize just about everyone has a boyfriend, a girlfriend, everyone dates. Well, not you, obviously. And why should mortality matter? We all live by the sword.”

Alright, that last was a fair point. It didn't change the rest, I didn't have time, he wasn't a good match if I even wanted one which I didn't, I wasn't interested.

“Live by the sword. Not for long if we can't fix this squad. So, enough time wasted. Get to work.”

“You didn't mention whether you actually like him? Or if it bothered you that he's male.”

“Because those things do not matter. I have no intention of dating or anything else other than turning these buffoons into soldiers. Now, are you going to help, or should I look for a new lieutenant while I'm down there?”

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The problem with peace was that it was just too damned peaceful. I shouldn't feel this way. I should be grateful. It wasn't that I wanted another fight. No, I'd had enough of failure, enough of trying to fill vacancies left too suddenly, enough of staring at allies as they wept beside cold stone memorials, enough of nightmares.

The problem with peace is that I had too much time to think. When every moment wasn't an emergency, there were too many moments when I could notice things, feelings, people I had been able to ignore. And I had gotten very good at ignoring all kinds of things during one crisis after another.

“Need a drink, taicho?”

I stopped idly glaring at the paper in front of me, and actively glared at yet another downside of peace. When war threatened, Matsumoto was at least manageable. Even she could not be entirely lazy when each day could be our last, each moment so critical to success or failure. Now, however, she regressed to the flighty, irrepressible, and irresponsible excuse for a second that had always kept me on edge. At least her invitation to drink was not accompanied by an actual bottle in hand . . . this time.

“No, I do not need a drink, and neither do you. Sit down, be silent, and do your work.”

“Well, someone's in a mood. What, was he here again?”

“Reports, Matsumoto. Before dinner or you will be working until midnight if I have to personally close down every bar in Seireitei.”

She pouted, I scowled, she flounced over to her chair in a dramatic huff. Sometimes, I found our routine a bit comforting, the solid sign of normalcy. This was not one of those times.

“Guess that answers that question.”

I went back to ignoring her. If I was lucky, it could be as much as an hour before I had to go through the same damn argument again. If unlucky, maybe ten minutes. Rustling of papers, faint sighs and groans from across the room, the sound of productivity, such as it was, soothed my nerves for a while.

“Say, taicho, why don't you just invite him to stop by? I mean, if it bothers you so much that he comes to Soul Society and doesn't visit you anymore, maybe he's just waiting for you to take the initiative.”

Unlucky it is. No surprise.

“You could at least get him something for White Day. I'd say skip the sweets and go straight for _the sweets_. Something in white silk, skimpy, a bit of lace maybe.”

“What the hell are you even talking about? Just do your work and mind your own business.”

As if I didn't know what she meant. I didn't look up, certain she would be watching for a blush at her risque suggestion with a smugness that would make me seriously consider kicking her out of the office, which was exactly what she was angling for. The worst part was that I couldn't deny I had been thinking about it. Not the . . . lace . . . but I had been fighting off thoughts of Kurosaki, and what it might be like to spend time with him in a different way. It irritated me, after months of trying to get Kurosaki to stop “popping by” the Tenth unannounced for no reason that he could explain, now I was twice as irritated that he'd just stopped.

Shouldn't I be relieved? I was, at first. When I had heard that the substitute Shinigami had spent a weekend visiting his friends and I had been none the wiser, I had spent an entire day smiling and humming to myself. Finally, no more pointless questions, no more unreliable gossip at the top of his and Matsumoto's lungs, no more random invitations to do things I had no time to do, no more relentless teasing by my disloyal lieutenant after he left.

“Taicho, really, just admit you miss Ichigo. I know for a fact he misses you. He asks about you all the time.”

“What is there to miss? Have you finished the training schedule for next week?”

Sure, he asked about me, like I'd believe that. It wasn't like I had locked the gates of the Tenth, he could ask about me here if he was the least bit interested. I sighed. That wasn't true. He was just doing what I told him to do, leaving me alone. And that was exactly what I wanted him to do. Right?

“Already on your desk, taicho. See, we're ahead! Come get a drink with me.”

I ignored that, found the schedule right in plain sight, and stared at it without seeing it at all. Sorry state of affairs when one wishes for another war just so one doesn't have to think about stupid shit one doesn't understand.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Traveling back with the trainees was slow, but worth it even if it did kill the last of the day. It wasn't like I usually went to bed before midnight, anyway, and the squad had done a fine job on their first patrol so it was an easy reward for them. There was still some activity in the division, and I walked to the office the long way just to keep an eye on things. I felt his reiatsu everywhere, so pervasive that it was very difficult to pinpoint his location. Then I heard his voice a second before he stepped backward out of a hallway right into my path, my delayed reaction running me right into him.

“Yeah, thanks Ran! See you in . . . _oof_! Toshiro?”

For one second his hand wrapped all the way around my arm to steady me, and I shuddered. There was no way to deny the leap in my pulse, and it wasn’t just surprise. Had he always smelled like cedar and rain?

“That's Hitsugaya-taicho. Can't you at least look where you're going, idiot?”

I expected some snarky comment about not seeing me, implied joke about my height. Or a feisty retort that I ran into him when I was looking, so which one of us was the idiot? When neither came, I looked up, anger momentarily derailed by confusion. He was looking to the side, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sorry. Excuse me. Have a good night.”

And he was stepping around me, all trace of the humor and energy from seconds ago gone. I scowled at his retreating form. Guess I didn't have to worry about him trying to get on my good side anymore. Why, why, _why the fuck_ did that piss me off?

“Oh, taicho. Why do you do this to yourself?”

Derailed again, I whirled to glare at her, registering automatically that she was drunk. Fine, I suppose, it was off hours and we were, in fact, right in front of her rooms.

“What?”

“For a genius, you sure can be thick. Is it that you refuse to admit it, or are you really so deluded that you don't know you're attracted to him? Could even be love someday, taicho, and you're just letting it slip right through your fingers.”

What? Ridiculous.

“Good night, Matsumoto.”

I stalked passed her and toward my quarters, trying not to feel like someone had just knocked all the air out of my lungs, replacing it with the scent of rain in the forest. Preposterous woman and her overblown romantic notions.

“Some of us would kill for that chance.”

Her whisper was mournful and accusing, and I swallowed the impulse to scream at her that she knew nothing about me or my feelings or anything at all, for that matter. She was drunk. She wouldn't remember any of it tomorrow. I would.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Somehow, against all logic, I found myself distracted even more when Kurosaki wasn’t around. I could feel his reiatsu when he arrived, still automatically counting in my mind. Four minutes, about twenty seconds usually between the time he stepped through the Senkaimon and the time he stepped through my office door. It had been weeks, and I kept waiting to get used to it, to stop the countdown.

I couldn’t lie anymore. There was still that nervous anticipation that I had once convinced myself was dread of the coming interruption. Only now it was quickly followed by anger at myself for both feeling that way and for destroying any chance of him actually walking through that damned door, and then bitter disappointment. The entire time his unrestrained reiatsu was detectable I couldn’t concentrate on anything as simple as paperwork.

As if she knew when he would be in Soul Society, Matsumoto managed to be in the office or with me at training each time I felt him arrive. I couldn’t escape without knowing I was causing suspicion. So, there I would be, trapped and trying to focus while I wondered if today he would at least stop to greet Matsumoto, wondered what he was doing, who he was visiting. It was miserable.

Worse, I had caught myself thinking of Kurosaki even when he wasn’t around. Thoughts that had started fairly innocently had become anything but appropriate. Then the weather turned with the warming afternoon, snow turning to rain, sun warming the cedars in the courtyard. It was terrible, only reminding me of his scent, and how solid and warm he had been in that brief second. Which led to thoughts I’d never had about anyone, never expected to have about anyone at all, thoughts like would his skin taste like rain, would that big hand feel as firm and secure if it were wrapped around a part of my anatomy that had chosen a horrible time in my life to start making demands?

“No, Ichigo said he's busy, he won't be there.”

“Jeez, I haven't seen him for weeks! I wanted to give him these cookies for Orihime for White Day. She gave everybody such . . . interesting chocolates.”

Interesting. Matsumoto had shown me hers. Salted caramel and milk chocolate . . . with miso, dark chocolate coated cookies . . . covered with togarashi. I shuddered and grabbed another form, keeping my head down and trying to work. _It's an office, dammit!_

“Rukia will be there, obviously. She'll surely be visiting Karakura, give them to her.”

“Oooh! You think that's who it is? Orihime? They'd be such a pretty couple!”

It was annoying that my office seemed to be the meeting place for Matsumoto and all her friends. But I couldn't really complain when it was my sister this time. Momo's involvement was the only reason I paid a little bit of attention to the chatter of the four women, not the topic. I even lied to myself about that.

“No, It can't be anyone in the Living World. His sisters said he's gone like all the time. Whoever he's seeing, it's gotta be someone here.”

For crying out loud. Matsumoto and Kotetsu Kiyone I could understand. Ise Nanao and Momo, well, I had thought better of them than indulging in flighty gossip.

“Well, he's certainly being secretive. How he's managing to avoid the entire SWA, well, he should join the Second.”

Good. That was good. If Ichigo had found another Shinigami to drag into an inappropriate relationship, then I didn't have anything else to worry about. I did feel a little guilty for never apologizing. That must be what was causing the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. It couldn’t be regret, couldn’t be jealousy. _Dammit_ , just the thought of him touching someone else the way I had started imagining him touching me . . . oh, god, and that meant someone touching him, someone who wasn't me. What the hell was wrong with my brain?

“We'll catch him, just a matter of time. That's one lucky girl . . . or guy, I suppose. Can you imagine?”

“Can I? I made a few passes at him myself. He strong, good-looking, fun, but most importantly loyal. What I could do to that boy . . ..”

Yes, he was all those things. Not to mention dependable, kind, honest, and willing to do anything for what was right. Not very respectful, but youth and earned pride caused that. Kurosaki would be a good match for just about anyone, come to think of it.

And he had once thought of me. And I had ruined it, too certain that such things as relationships were impossible for someone like me.

“Wow, Rangiku, I can't believe he turned you down.”

“Ha! I didn't stand a chance. He was head over heels for . . . someone else.”

_Was_. For someone like me. Someone oblivious to anything except work and duty. Someone frigid in more ways than one, never even noticing that I was the only one around me not making room in their life for a little comfort and support, a little excitement and passion. For God’s sake, I had dealt with Matsumoto’s cursed romance with Ichimaru for how long? On second thought, that only helped me think it was right to not get involved with another person.

“Really? Who was it, maybe that's who . . .”

_No!_ I would never hear the end of it if Momo found out.

“Matsumoto! If you're leaving early, _again_ , at least drop these at Division One on your way.”

“You should come with us, taicho. It would be good to get a break from the office.”

“Someone has to do the work around here. I don't have time to . . .”

“Now hear me out, taicho. You think we get this dolled up for a night at the bar? It's not even noon. Even I have my standards. Besides, your big sis is too respectable for that, you know.”

“It's a party at Kuchiki Manor, Shiro-chan. I know you were invited; all the captains were.”

“Oh, he throws every invitation right in the trash. I’m amazed anyone sends them anymore. Come on, taicho, at least put in an appearance. You've been cooped up here all winter, and this kind of thing is good for your reputation.”

“No means no, Matsumoto. Now, please leave so that I can have some peace and quiet.”

Finally, my space was emptied of noise. But not of their presence, perfume and ribbons, makeup containers, and there, on Matsumoto's desk, a white and silver wrapped box of cookies. I sighed and picked it up. Momo would be upset, unless I delivered this to Kuchiki Rukia for her.

I had been chastised for not showing up at the New Year celebration at Division One. And the sotaicho’s birthday party. And just about every other gathering I wasn’t under direct orders to attend. Besides, I didn’t think I could concentrate on work, maybe a break wasn’t a bad idea. Kuchiki always had great food, perhaps the roiling in my stomach was just hunger and not a sick combination of sorrow and envy. It couldn’t hurt to just spend an hour, surely, and they said Kurosaki wouldn’t be there.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Spring was early, not even waiting for the end of March. Even though spring marked the end of my favorite season and the approach of hell, also known as summer, I couldn’t help but love the cool evenings and the life bursting free in bright colors and heavenly scents. While I preferred the forests of autumn, meadows of wildflowers and blooming underbrush, there was a definite appeal to the tended gardens and barely budding trees surrounding Kuchiki Manor. But there was much more on offer, indoor formal gardens already bursting with color, beautiful herbal gardens, even a massive greenhouse sporting tropical plants seen nowhere else in Soul Society.

Kuchiki Rukia was playing hostess, so surrounded by people that I decided to wait and try to give her the box after enjoying the food. Abarai was a massive shadow lurking behind her everywhere she went. Matsumoto, of course, always ended up with a half dozen admirers vying for her attention, including the persistent Hisagi. But that wasn’t all. It was as if I'd had my eyes closed for years. Everywhere I looked, Kuchiki Byakuya with a noblewoman at his side and others trying to catch his eye, other nobles in couples or in little crowds around an eligible lord or lady, similar but less formal flirting between Shinigami. Evidently, I was completely wrong in thinking there was no place for such things as all this took place under the watchful and often participatory eyes of the leading authorities in Seireitei.

Lost in my own thoughts and observations, I wandered from the ballroom through the gallery slowly, surprised to find myself enjoying the careful luxury, the lack of anything useful to do, and even the brief, polite conversations as shocked guests noticed me drifting about like a wraith. Some seemed genuinely pleased to see me, including the Kuchikis. I had even heard one of them bragging, as if tempting me out of my division was some kind of prize or compliment.

“Taicho!”

I turned away from contemplating a lovely arrangement of early azaleas leading down to a small, bamboo-framed pond in one of the indoor garden areas. The drooling lieutenant of the 9th broke away after a brief look at me, still wary after the dressing down I’d given him following a drunken night that ended with him mostly naked in my office of all places. The truly amazing thing? It wasn’t the first time. And the woman to blame for it was striding toward me with a wide smile, a bottle, and two glasses.

“Why are you all the way out here? They just started the buffet. Well, we should give it a minute and let the line die down, eh? Here. Now, now, it’s rude to refuse, taicho. It’s champagne! It’s weak stuff, don’t worry, you can drink a ton of it. Hell, it’s practically water. Bubbly, wonderful water.”

The days were long gone when I tried to get a word in edgewise, when not in my haori, anyway. She looked stunning, as always, eschewing the soft spring colors many wore in favor of vibrant green like new leaves. I eyed the pretty, delicate glass full of fizzy gold. She downed a full glass in a couple of gulps and had probably been drinking non-stop but didn’t seem drunk, so it was probably safe to take a polite sip. Or two. It was surprisingly pleasant.

“We need to go shopping. Although, you do have nice ankles.”

“Like hell I'm letting you spend my money again.”

My ankles barely showed, and it was the longest kimono I owned. It seemed like the long-awaited growth spurt was going to break my purse as Matsumoto insisted on shopping every time I gained a half inch. Better to just stop buying anything until my body decided to get it over with. I'd be happy . . . ecstatic if I could just get my head above breast level.

“Say, taicho, have you seen Momo? Izuru’s getting frantic, poor thing. Probably crying in a corner, ruining everyone’s fun by now.”

“Kira? What does he have to do with Hinamori?”

She snickered as she filled my glass despite it being barely touched. Just an excuse to fill her own.

“Forgot who I was talking to. You didn’t know he fancies her? Has for ages.”

No. Nope. Not happening. That fool was another one of Matsumoto’s drinking buddies, another one I had found sprawled on my office floor _several times_ in nothing but fundoshi. Momo had come so far, but she was still emotionally fragile. The last thing she needed was a morose, alcoholic suitor who was equally traumatized and would no doubt want to cry on her already burdened shoulder.

“And how does Hinamori feel about this?”

Maybe . . . definitely it was not my decision to make. But I’d damn well have something to say about it.

“Hmm? She’s lightened up a bit toward him since the whole Quincy thing.”

I glared at her. The whole Quincy thing? Then again, being flippant was a trademark way Matsumoto dealt with terrible events. She was unaffected by my anger, anyway, filling the glass I had drained.

“She could use a distraction, taicho. Izuru’s harmless enough.”

“Harmless? I think not. You say she’s lightened up, what do you mean?”

“Well,” she pursed her lips and looked at the gilded ceiling like she didn’t know exactly what she was going to say. Really, why did I put up with her? “When she was still hung up on you-know-who, she was pretty blunt about putting Izuru off. The Quincy War seemed to get her over it. People get lonely, taicho, especially after something like that. Lately, she’s been more tolerant, but still tells him no every time.”

“Every time? Matsumoto, is he harassing her?”

“Eh? Harassing is a strong word, taicho. He doesn’t ever touch her or say lewd things, just keeps trying to get a date. And he hangs around her like a little lost puppy, kinda like my cute little Shuhei. You know men, can’t seem to take the hint and just leave us alone.”

Aware of how harshly my teeth were grinding together, I took another drink to force my jaw to loosen, forced my hand to loosen before I crushed Momo's cookies to powder. Killing a lieutenant would likely get me in some trouble, but I would make certain that he never approached her with an unwanted advance again.

“Men aren’t like that, Matsumoto. Scum are like that. It isn’t hard to be a gentleman. Just look at Ichigo. I told him no, even if I didn’t know what I was saying. Do you see him stalking me?”

“Why no, now that you mention it.”

Eyeing her as she filled our glasses again, I looked for any mockery. Once more I had just blurted out something I didn’t mean to say aloud. But she must not have caught it, the little implication that I would have said something very different if I had just understood what he was offering. I took another drink, worried my moment of embarrassment might be too obvious.

“But then, Ichigo was always an odd one. Can’t go judging all men by his standard.”

“And why not? I would never push my attentions on someone when it wasn’t welcome. I daresay our host has never done so, either. Can't say the same for our illustrious leader.”

Her laugh was one of the best things about her, like bells ringing clear and high. I sipped again, wondering what she found so amusing but trying hard not to let my temper get the better of me. How talk turned from the distasteful flirtations of Kira to comparing the cad to Kurosaki, I didn’t know. Wait, it was my fault, I was pretty sure. Damn the human anyway for always getting into my head.

“You make my point, taicho. There are ordinary men, and then there are ones like you and Ichigo. Oh, speak of the devil!”

Unmistakable, the untrained reiatsu heavy as the floral perfumes thick in the air and just as enticing. When had I stopped being offended by his lack of courtesy and started soaking in that undisciplined aura? If I looked past the anxiety and regret, let myself just relax, why did it feel like stepping into a warm bath, comfortable and secure? That was not a feeling I was used to, either one, comfort or security.

Devious woman poured another glass. I let her, vaguely aware that I had downed at least three glasses and should not be taking another sip. My voice was quiet and even as I forcibly brought useless emotions back under my control.

“You said he would not be here.”

“I wasn't lying if that's what you're thinking. Even I can't predict people changing their minds. C'mon, let's go get some food before all the good stuff is gone.”

She stopped after a couple of steps, tossing her golden hair artfully as she looked back.

“Can't put it off forever, taicho.”

“Indeed I can.”

I turned to leave. It had been a mistake to come here. It was always a mistake whenever I ventured into social gatherings. I knew that fact and still let myself get lured into this, all because I was completely off-balance. Yet more proof that dreams, relationships, fantasies, attraction, all of the bullshit Kurosaki had dragged into my life was not worth it.

“Taicho! You have got to stop running from your feelings. If you don't face this it's going to keep eating at you.”

I shrugged off the hand gripping my shoulder, downed the last of the drink in my glass and turned, shoving the pretty bit of crystal at her. I really wanted to throw the thing, the tiny bit of destruction would do me good.

“You. Lecturing me about facing emotional turmoil. Really, Matsumoto?”

The things I left unsaid, implied cruelty. I saw the wince, felt my shock that I would say such a thing in anger to her of all people. The thought flitted through my head that this was all her fault anyway, tricking me here, muddling my head with alcohol, muddling my heart with her month of needling. Yet she still kept at me.

“What is it you're afraid of, Toshiro?”

“Drop it, lieutenant,” I growled. I needed to get out of the situation, far away. I'd gone from relatively content, to angry, to panicked, and now I was simply volatile. I didn't know what I would do or say, everything was too raw, too jumbled.

“The worst that can happen is he rejects you and then you move on. So just tell him how you feel.”

She took a step back as I glared at her. I didn't realize until after I started shouting that the pretty azaleas nearby had frozen and wilted. I didn't realize until my foolish mouth shut that I had completely lost control. I certainly didn't realize that the alarming burst of wild reiatsu from the perfectly controlled ice captain would draw the rapid attention of several powerful Shinigami nearby who only needed a second to be within earshot.

“It's that easy, is it? Just bare all my faults and everything will be better? Thank God I have you to tell me what to do, Matsumoto. And what exactly would you suggest I say? 'So, Kurosaki, sorry about telling you to get lost but I've been thinking and I know you're a barely legal if hot-as-sin human and I'm a frigid, old, dead man who looks like jail-bait, but I really think we should get married or at least have lots of sex for a few decades.' Does that sound good? Do you think he'd throw himself at my feet?”

Her steel eyes were wide and unblinking as she took another cautious step back, away from the ring of ice surrounding my feet. I drew a shuddering breath, closed my eyes for a second, strangling to death every stupid thought and worthless _feeling_ I could catch. That left a nice, big void to be filled with mortification when I opened my eyes.

At least a dozen Shinigami stood in an irregular ring several steps behind Matsumoto. Likely, there were others I would see if it were at all possible to turn my head. It was the tall, tattooed Abarai that broke the heavy silence, a whisper like a thunderclap.

“Yeah, that would probably do it.”

Beside him stood the one person I could not bear to look at, yet could not tear my eyes from. Tea-colored eyes blinked at the quiet words, breaking the spell. The handsome face went from shock to a mix of embarrassment and something like grief strangely mixed with simmering fury.

So. That's what rejection feels like. That's what I had done to him through my carelessness. I could swear in that instant I heard a deafening crack, though the pain of heartbreak would not set in until I had fled like a coward. No one followed.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Never had I been so grateful for my years of dedication to work and lack of social connections. No one from the Tenth had been at Kuchiki Manor except me and Matsumoto. Normally a shameless gossip, she would not only keep her mouth shut, I was sure she would also stop any gossip in its tracks. I would have a day or two. Still, it was only a matter of time before the entire division knew every disgusting word I had said.

No, not disgusting. Inappropriate, rude, uncivil, but true. I let my forehead thump on the desk for the hundredth time, wincing as I aggravated the hangover that had tormented me since before dawn. I wasn't proud of snatching one of Matsumoto's sake bottles from inside her desk and downing it on the roof. Between the sting of rejection and the brutal pain of facing my actions, intoxication seemed the only way to deaden the churning anxiety.

Really, it was no worse than when I first became captain. There would be jokes, quickly hushed conversations, laughter from turned heads. It would pass. At least many would be too afraid of me to get caught mocking.

It was still early when I felt his reiatsu. Kurosaki had left Soul Society not long after my horror of a 'confession.' I debated running again, go to check patrols or something. But he wouldn't come here, anyway. He wasn't the type to rub it in, and apart from that, what was left to say?

Sighing, I got up to make some tea. There were no officers scheduled for office work and Matsumoto wouldn't be in until noon at the earliest, so the kitchen was empty. I took my time, trying to think of nothing except the comforting routine, finding myself simply leaning on the counter and staring at nothing while water heated. I seriously needed to get my shit together, go back to the way I was and chalk this entire year up to some warped effect of extremely delayed physical puberty long after the mind had matured. What a cruel bitch Mother Nature could be.

“Toshiro?”

Shit! Shit, and damn, and shit what was he . . . hide? He couldn't sense reiatsu for shit, I could just . . .

“Shit!”

Bursting in was his specialty, and he ran into the kitchen while I sucked on the skin below my small finger, hand stupidly landing on the steaming kettle in my panic. I glared as he grabbed my hand, blaming the heat in my cheeks on the slight injury instead of the way his two big hands made mine vanish.

“What are you doing here?”

“At the moment, healing you. Don't worry, Toshiro, I've been practicing.”

Jerking my hand away was a bit painful, in more ways than one. With a thought, I coated the red skin with ice. It would heal in minutes, anyway.

“It's Hitsugaya-taicho. I don't need your help.”

Brushing passed him wasn't an option, the great tree took up too much space in the narrow aisle. So I turned back to the tea, cursing under my breath when I automatically grabbed his favorite cup along with mine. Too late to do anything about it, so I followed through with making him a cup while the uncomfortable silence stretched on behind me. I couldn't find anything else to do while the tea steeped, so I drew a deep breath and turned. It had been weeks since I'd really seen him, a glimpse here, a horrifically embarrassing moment there. This was the first time face-to-face since my thoughts about him had radically changed.

Why hadn't I seen it before? Was it really just hormones, a reaction to his interest? Or did my mind have to make the dangerous leap before my body realized how attractive he was? He had one hand on the counter, leaning with his head down, chin on the breastbone invitingly exposed by the cut of his unique uniform. Damned show off. And it got worse when he looked up at me, the angle of his head making his brown eyes huge and sweet . . . and sad.

_Oh, this was going to hurt._

“Tosh . . .”

“No. This is not going to happen here. Wait for me in the office.”

I turned back to the tea, only an excuse. After a few seconds, I heard him exit the kitchen, sliding the door closed, leaving me an illusion of privacy. Not that it did me any good. Well, it did give me a minute to change my attitude, to remind myself that I was a captain and truly did not have the time or the ability to pursue romantic attachments. I wouldn't let attraction, emotional, sexual or otherwise, become a distraction.

That didn't make this any easier. I didn't want to hear how he had moved on, how he was flattered but not interested. Kurosaki would be kinder about it than I had been, at least, and I owed it to him. Might as well get it over with.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

I set down the heavy mug Kurosaki had always preferred, all those days he spent loitering around my office. He sat now on the couch where he would nap from time to time. I used to nap there, as well, and he had commented more than once that the throw pillow smelled like me. I wondered what that meant. My shampoo, I guess, since my soap wasn't scented and I didn't wear cologne. So I smelled like sandalwood? Not as nice as cedar.

“Toshiro?”

I'd been standing there beside him like an idiot, staring at the plain beige pillow. With a huff, I moved to the chair at the end of the long table, staring instead at the crumpled white box with its silver ribbons, curls mussed and spilling on the table. I drew a breath, not sure what was going to come out, but he beat me to it.

“These weren't from you, were they?”

“What?”

A crooked smile, and I dared look higher to the rather sad eyes with a glint of hope lightening my heart as I met his gaze.

“You dropped them. Rangiku said they were for me, for White Day.”

“Ah . . . no. Momo made them. She said for Inoue.”

“Mm-hm. Rangiku knew that, didn't she?”

My head fell, hand rubbing my eyes harshly. Naïve fool.

“You aren't seeing someone, romantically, I mean.”

“Uh, no.”

“She knew you were going to be at Kuchiki Manor.”

“Yeah, everyone did. What else . . . you'd been drinking.”

“She kept pissing me off and filling my glass.”

It was silent for what seemed like hours. I wasn't even mad at her. Not yet, anyway. I was too sick with shame and sorrow to be angry. Still, the thought ran through my head, after all we had been through, how could she do this to me, to him? Manipulating me into feelings I didn't want, and apparently he no longer wanted, for what? Her personal entertainment?

“Do you remember back when you came to Karakura and had to go to school and hang out like a human?”

My head raised, surprised by the change of topic, enchanted by the wistful smile.

“I tried to ask you out three times. Three and a half if you include the time you just flash-stepped away in the middle of the invite. Did you even know?”

Stunned, I shook my head, leaning toward him with my elbows on my knees. When . . . what had he said? I remembered him bugging me about trying some fancy tea place, and being a bit tempted because, well, tea. Was that supposed to be a date? I was there to gather information on Kurosaki, Aizen, Karakura, not to spend time drinking tea or ice skating – that one had to have been a date request, right?

“I wasn't very good at flirting then. Still not, apparently. Kinda sad, you'd think I'd figure out how to get your attention after years of trying. Guess I should have just asked Rangiku.”

Wait. Wasn't he . . . it was a lie that he was with someone else, so why did he look so pissed off when I . . . oh. Pissed off _for me_. Sad for me. Pissed off because he could tell someone had been messing with my emotions and drowning my ability to think clearly. Sad because he knew I would never have said such a thing in private, let alone in company.

“Years of trying?”

“Yeah, Toshiro.”

“Hitsu . . . um, I think I'm still missing something.”

Now he leaned forward, and I watched in a strange sort of daze as he scooted closer, our knees almost touching. Tensing to pull back, I froze when just one roughly callused fingertip slid lightly down the back of my right hand, both of us staring at the unkempt and bitten fingernail that paused at my knuckle and stayed. I held my breath as I lifted my eyes, meeting the sunlit gaze that was studying me intently, so close I could count the flecks of darkness and light.

“No. I don't think you are.”

Some fucking genius I was. Oblivious to the ways of the heart, unintentionally hurting him not just for these past four weeks, but for years. And he was still here. I didn't know what would come of this, and it was probably a terrible idea. I only knew what had to happen next, and which one of us had to do it. My hand twisted under his delicate touch, locking our hands together as I leaned closer.

Cedar and rain, both warm and refreshing. I had no idea how sensitive my lips could be, feeling every slight movement, the pull of the slightest friction, the damp of breath. My heart was tripping, a feeling quite like that rush of fearful eagerness before a fatal strike, the adrenaline of that split second before victory, and just like that, gone too soon, sighing as he moved back just an inch with a tiny, monumental tug of the tingling skin as if it longed to stay with him.

And he did the strangest thing, brushing his nose back and forth against the tip of mine, then resting his forehead against mine, his eyes closed and face content with a gentle smile, so close, I could barely think and wasn't sure I cared.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“I made you some cookies.”

His chuckle shook against me, his thumb gliding across the underside of my wrist. Such little things, things I'd never felt.

“They're lovely. So, dinner, you and me, sometime this weekend?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Tonight.”

I had wasted enough time. Matsumoto was still going to pay, pay dearly for toying with us both. And then I would forgive her. Someday, I may even have to thank her. I wasn't sure what would come of this. All I knew was that I was hopeful, and he was smiling. A slight tilt of my head and my lips were happy again.

 


End file.
